


to the houses of our fathers

by bluexshift



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Child Magnus Bane, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 02:44:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14684802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluexshift/pseuds/bluexshift
Summary: how magnus first met his father





	to the houses of our fathers

**Author's Note:**

> i did far too much research for this little thing not to share it, so here's a brief timeline, in relation to this work, as i headcanon it!  
> \- magnus was born in december 1611, the year the first dutch outpost was established on the outskirts of jayakarta  
> \- he killed his stepfather at 7 years old, in 1619, the same year jayakarta was razed and the fortress that would become known as batavia was established  
> \- he stowed away on a boat heading to malaysia, arriving in malacca in 1619 (currently under portuguese occupation but under attacks from the dutch)

It was easy enough for an seven year old boy to survive on the streets of Malacca, he’d found. As long as he didn’t speak Dutch, as long as he kept his head down and his eyes hidden, he’d be fine.

His father would have hated him speaking only Malay and broken Portuguese, but then both of his parents also would have hated the rough sleeping and the stealing of coin and food.

As it stood, he’d found little places here and there where he could begin to feel light again, free of the overwhelming, crushing, confusing feeling he’d been carrying on his young shoulders for the past six months. He’d found himself making his way to one of them now; a tree on the outskirts of the port town. It was a proud thing, strong and tall and alone in the middle of a secluded patch of grass. There was a low hanging branch, still fairly hidden, that he could climb up to sleep on, and higher up in the branches he’d found patches of dark resin that were reminiscent of what he thought Heaven would smell like. He’d seen similar scented wood in the marketplace before; they called it _gaharu_. They said it was a mould, a dark infection in the heart of the tree, but still they used and traded and coveted it. He’d grown fond of the tree, and kept his discovery a secret, despite the money he could make – after all, he couldn’t trust adults not to take either from him, in the end.

The stars above him shone as he walked through the deserted street – he’d later realise how odd that was, but for now he was enjoying looking up at them, not concerned with whether anyone would see his eyes and know him for the monster he must be. He was so enthralled by the heavens, longing to reach out and touch them, and fly away with them when the dawn arrived, so it wasn’t until he was near his tree that he turned and saw them.

His breath caught in his throat as he whirled around, unable to scream as he took them in. Six creatures, six monsters, surrounding him. They were almost as tall as he was and they were on four legs, four bent insect legs, with jaws and pincers dripping black and barbed tails raised.

He swallowed. They watched. He took a step back towards the tree. They took a step towards him.

He backed up, eyes wide and tears silently streaming, until he was pressed up against the trunk with nowhere to run, and the reality of his situation hit him like a weight. He was going to die, maybe it was what he deserved, but he still thought a silent, desperate prayer as he sank down into a crouch, arms coming up as his head ducked down.

“ _Please, I’m sorry! Go away, please!_ ” he yelled, keeping his head down and hoping the creatures understood him. His thoughts returned unbidden again to his father, who would have clipped him round the ear for not speaking Dutch when it wasn’t tantamount to his survival _not to_ , but his father was dead and he sought solace in his mother’s language instead.

His father was dead.

He killed him.

His mother was also dead, and he supposed that he had killed her, too.

The creatures moved closer, he could tell – he could just about hear their ragged breathing now. He wondered if he’d get to see his mama again, or if he was going to go to Hell forever. He wondered if dying would hurt.

_No. I will NOT die._

The thought rushed out of him with a rage he had felt only once before, and he stood up, eyes blazing. Fire that did not burn consumed him, channelling out into a ring growing in size, with him at the epicentre. The monsters shrieked and contorted as it reached them, black bubbling, shells cracking, as they burnt up and away into ash.

He breathed hard, fists clenched at his sides, and registered the sound of a single person applauding. He looked to his right, frozen in place. The source of the sound was a man. A very tall man, with shoulder length black hair and the finest clothes he had ever seen, a stranger who was walking towards him slowly, using an ornate black cane to support himself. He couldn’t back away, and yet he never even felt the need to.

“Oh, my beautiful boy, that was…magnificent,” the stranger said, looking down at him, smile on his face wider than the one in his eyes. The stranger was speaking Malay, his voice deep, and he felt instantly more at ease; not entirely, but enough to free his throat.

“Who are you?” he asked, blinking up at the stranger. The man chuckled.

“Straight to the point. I like that,” the man moved his hand, the one not leaning on the cane, to his chest. “My name is Asmodeus, and I have been waiting for you for nine years now. Since I last saw your mother, in fact.”

“You knew my mama?”

“I did, dear boy, very well indeed. You see, I feared they would keep me a secret, and it seems they have, but I shall always be honest with you, I promise you that. Do you believe me?”

He nodded. He found that he did.

Asmodeus smiled and closed his eyes, serene. “I knew your mother because, little one, I am your father. Your real father.”

“No, I have- I had- He-,” He clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head in disbelief, and as he opened them again he saw his own eyes smiling back at him. He inhaled as the doubts immediately vacated his mind – this man had eyes like him. _He wasn’t alone. Of course it must be true._

“I know you must have been given a name, but I don’t think it fair that as your father, I was not consulted, do you? Not even a single letter.” He shook his head on impulse. “Good boy, smart boy. Such raw strength, such power, I think… Magnus. Yes, Magnus suits you. Do you like it?” He nodded, and noted that it didn’t feel at all insincere – he did like it. He felt he could grow to own it.

“So then, Magnus; let me show you where I live. Where those like us truly come from. Let me give you a home, and show you who you can be, who you truly are. Will you come?” Asmodeus stood up and brushed non-existent dust off of his trousers, before offering out a hand towards him. He found the decision easier than anything else had been for the past few months.

Holding his father’s hand, he chanced a look back as they walked towards a whirling door that his father had made appear with a snap of his fingers. Crackling flames had engulfed his little tree, lighting up the late summer night, and a sharp pang hit his heart – another place of his gone, another place that felt like home burned to nothing. But he pushed it aside, for he would have a new home. With his real father, with someone like him.

Magnus let go of his childhood, and looked forward.


End file.
